Heirloom
by Brynneth
Summary: Zevran gives Nathaniel a gift, in more ways than one.  Prompt fill for PoT Valentine's Day swap.  Contains explicit material.


**Title: ** Heirloom

**Characters: ** Zevran, Nathaniel

**Rating:** M for explicit material. **Warning:** There is some m/m sexual stuff here, so if this isn't your thing, you've been warned!

**Summary:** Zevran gives Nathaniel a gift, in more ways than one. This was a prompt fill for the PoT Valentines Day swap.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters.

Nathaniel leaned casually against the wall of the courtyard with his arms crossed. The last rays of the summer sun burst between the towers of Vigil's Keep to light the practice field in the center. Two figures leaped and dodged through swirling dust motes, performing an intricate dance with leather and steel. One figure was tall and stocky, his short hair glowing a golden red in the late afternoon sun. He wielded a longsword and shield that rang with the shrieks of metal against metal. The second man was short, lean, and boasted pointed ears and long, radiant, amber hair that matched his eyes, which flashed as brightly as his whirling daggers. Both men were stripped to the waist, the taller one with a broad, pale, muscular chest covered with fine blond hair. The elf was deeply tanned, his chest hairless and covered with an amazing display of dark swirling tattoos that circled around to his back and below his waist. They made quite a magnificent sight, although only Nathaniel was nearby to appreciate it.

He had met Alistair shortly after the destruction of Amaranthine, when the Warden Second-in-Command had arrived to help the Warden Commander rebuild the city and Keep. Seemingly jovial and friendly, the warrior obviously still carried grudges from the time of the Blight. When Alistair had discovered that he was a Howe, his face had reddened in self-righteous anger, and Nathaniel had been prepared for a fight. The Warden Commander intervened, however, and assured Alistair that Nathaniel was _not_ like his traitorous father. After a few weeks of tension, the two had warily started practicing together and eventually developed a bond of respect, if not friendship. Zevran was still newly arrived to the Keep, having appeared two weeks ago to offer his assistance to the Warden Commander. Nathaniel was shocked to learn that Zevran was not being required to undergo the Joining. Apparently, he had some sort of agreement with the Commander to assist with training new recruits, even though he was not officially a Warden.

Something about the elf interested Nathaniel, although he had yet to pinpoint exactly _what_. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to breeze through life as if he was unconcerned about _anything_. Always he was smiling, lacing his words with witty humor, regardless of the situation. On his first night at the Keep, he had wasted no time in commenting on the relationship between the Commander and Anders, which was known only to a select few within the Keep. He had leered and flirted with both of them, actually _asking_ to join them for the night, and neither had seemed shocked by his behavior. Alistair had simply shook his head and remarked to Nathaniel in a whisper that he _knew_ it wouldn't take Zevran long to begin propositioning people. Laughing, he had warned Nathaniel to check his bed every night before turning in.

Certainly, the elf was undeniably attractive. At one time, long ago, he might have allowed himself to think of Zevran in a sexual way. But Rendon Howe was notoriously intolerant of anything he considered to be against the natural order of things. This included same-sex relationships as well as the status of elves. Only once had the young Nathaniel allowed himself to indulge in his desires, and his father had caught him in the unfortunate arms of an elven servant friend. The servant was beheaded and Nathaniel had not been able to sit or lay down without pain for a week. Never again did he allow himself to be tempted. Rendon's disappointment in him had hurt worse than the whip. His father had been his god, which made the time after the Blight all the more painful when the elder Howe's traitorous deeds finally came to light. But with the Commander's help, he had established his own honor, that someday would hopefully overshadow the evil done by his father.

Alistair's hearty laugh rang through the courtyard as he bowed wearily to Zevran, signaling an end to their sparring.

"Well, at least I'm getting better! I can last longer against you than I used to." The large warrior shook his head ruefully as Zevran chuckled.

"Indeed, my friend. But you must realize that defeating me may always be beyond your reach." He smirked at Alistair. "However, my bed is most certainly _not_, and I would be happy to spar with you there as well."

Alistair blushed and shook his head. "You never give up, do you?"

"Giving up is not a skill I'm acquainted with, dear warrior." He turned his head and met Nathaniel's dark eyes with his own. "However, if you are ceding this day's fight to me, perhaps our rogue friend over here would like to take over your side of the fight?"

Nathaniel pushed himself off the wall and leisurely strode over to the two men. "I don't believe I've yet had the pleasure. I admit that my melee skills are somewhat lacking in comparison to my bowmanship, but I would certainly be willing to test myself against you."

Alistair laughed. "Good luck, Nate. He may appear small, but he's like lightning on his feet. You two enjoy yourselves. I'm heading for a nice, relaxing bath." Grinning, he moved off to the Keep. Zevran turned his attention to Nathaniel, smirking.

"So, my good Warden. Shall we? Perhaps you would remove your armor top so that we may be on equal footing?" He raked his eyes suggestively down Nathaniel's body. A faint heat pulsed low in Nathaniel's stomach. He kept his face carefully blank, however, as he removed his top to reveal a slim but muscular chest, dark hair trailing from his pectoral muscles down to his belly. Was that a gleam of appreciation in Zevran's eyes? _Andraste's ass_, but he would not lose control with this elf. Slightly baring his teeth, he drew his own daggers and assumed a ready stance.

Zevran grinned and without any warning, lashed out quickly with one dagger, forcing Nathaniel to take a step back in surprise. _Maker_, but he was _fast_. Alistair certainly hadn't been lying. Angry at his lapse of attention, he flew in a whirlwind of slicing cuts towards his opponent. But Zevran calmly, almost leisurely blocked his blades, sending him back with a ferocious counterattack. Back and forth, they lunged and parried, daggers occasionally drawing a minor slash of blood. Both were swiftly covered with slick sweat, and with a few flicks of his wrists, Zevran had disarmed Nathaniel, sending the taller man's daggers flying. Not to be easily bested, Nathaniel saw an opening and lunged for Zevran's ankles pulling the elf's legs out from under him. The two rolled in the dirt, grappling for control of Zevran's daggers. Nathaniel managed to grab Zevran's wrist and bent it back, forcing the elf to release one dagger. But he forgot to keep his attention on Zevran's legs, and the assassin quickly brought a knee up to Nathaniel's hip and shoved, using the momentum to roll over top of the other man. Nathaniel closed his eyes as he felt Zevran's dagger pressed against his ribs, the elf's other hand buried in his hair pulling his head back. _Well, that was shamefully fast. Obviously I need to brush up on my melee skills_, Nathaniel thought, disgusted with himself.

A deep chuckle sounded above him, and he opened his eyes to see amber ones very close to his own. Both were breathing heavily, and he could smell a faint scent of lemon and ginger on Zevran's breath. He was also acutely aware of the elf's body pressing against his own and grit his teeth against the heat that sought to claim him. _Control_, he thought, _it's all about control_.

"Hmm," Zevran's voice was like the _chocolat_ he had sampled in the Free Marshes: dark, smooth, _exotic_. "Now _this_ is interesting. I must confess that I've spent the last two weeks imagining you in _exactly_ this position. _Not_ surrounded by dirt, however." He chuckled softly and drew away the dagger but did not remove his hand from Nathaniel's hair, nor did he pull away.

Anger mixed with the heat inside Nathaniel. "If you have been so anxious to best me in battle, you could have simply asked me sooner. I assure you that next time, we will use bows, and _then_ we shall see who concedes defeat," he growled at the elf.

Zevran raised his eyebrows. "Actually, I have been watching you on the archery field, and I already _know _I cannot hope to best your considerable skill with the bow. Which is why I invited you to trade blows with me today. It was the easiest way to get you in . . . ah . . . a more _intimate_ position." His burning eyes and smirking lips left no doubt as to what he was suggesting. His fingers in Nathaniel's hair scratched lightly against the scalp, forcing a slight hitch in the larger man's breath. Another wave of heat emanated from low in Nathaniel's belly, and he could feel the elf's pelvis pressing harder against his own. _No_, he thought wildly,_ I am __**not**__ like that, not anymore! I have conquered those desires_! He felt panic in the back of his throat and looked away from the Antivan's smoldering eyes.

Zevran hesitated in sudden concern. What was going on here? For the last two weeks, he had noticed Nathaniel subtly staring at him whenever he thought Zevran wasn't looking. He had recognized the hidden hunger in those dark eyes, for how often had he seen that look from others who wished to bed him? For himself, he found the rogue with his sharp tongue and his dark moods quite intriguing. Anger usually transformed into intense passion in a more intimate setting, and Zevran greatly desired to feel that intensity directed toward himself. The other rogue was clearly trying to conceal his interest, but Zevran had thought it was from a simple reluctance to display his feelings publicly. For days, he had been seeking a way to initiate some kind of private, physical contact in the hope of drawing Nathaniel's desire to the surface. But now, as he closely watched the emotions in the other man, there was obviously some internal turmoil going on here. Nathaniel was clearly fighting against his emotions, and Zevran intended to discover _why_.

"My dear Warden, am I making you uncomfortable?" Zevran kept his voice low and soothing, hoping to calm the rogue below him.

"I do _not_ desire this intimacy, _elf_," Nathaniel growled between clenched teeth. "You are sorely mistaken if you believe that _this_ could possibly interest me." His voice dripped with venom.

"Hmm. . ." Zevran rubbed his pelvis just slightly against Nathaniel's growing hardness. "Your body seems to be telling me otherwise. Are you quite sure?" His fingers left the rogue's hair and tenderly stroked Nathaniel's cheek. The gesture was almost _affectionate_, and this was more than Nathaniel could bear. Using his anger for strength, he shoved the elf off, quickly coming to his feet and snatching up his daggers. Zevran merely remained sitting in the dirt, looking up at him, eyes filled with concern.

"Nathaniel," the Antivan slurred out the name with a thick, enticing accent. "Truly, I did not mean to offend. I simply wished to return an interest I was sure I felt from you. If I miscalculated, I offer a sincere apology."

"Just stay away from me, elf," Nathaniel hissed. "I assure you I do not feel _any_ interest." With that, he turned sharply on his heel and left the yard. Zevran watched him leave, brow furrowed in thought. _Hmmm, he denies it, but there was definitely something there_. He stood and brushed himself off absently. _This one will take some effort, but the result may be well worth it_. Humming softly, he sauntered off to the Keep, plans unfolding in his head.

#####

The next day, Nathaniel avoided Zevran, spending most of the day at the archery field, sinking arrow after arrow in the practice targets. He purposely focused his thoughts on the accuracy of his aim and the perfection of his stance. He tried to forget the encounter with Zevran, but anger kept pushing his feelings to the surface. Finally giving in to his frustration, he tried to picture Zevran's face as the target, but it was quickly replaced by the image of his father, squinting eyes glaring at him over a hooked nose. _Damn you_, he thought bitterly. _Thanks to you, I can't even look at myself without being disgusted. Is that why you sent me away to the Free Marches, Father? Because you despised me and what I was? _ Again and again, he shot arrows straight and true into the judgmental eyes of Rendon Howe. Finally, as the sun was setting, he dragged his weary body to the Keep's baths to soak his exhausted muscles and wash away the bitterness.

Finally drained of his fury, he dried off and wrapped a towel around his hips. His wet hair left dark spots on the stone floor as he made his way down the hall to his room. He did not keep his room locked since there was nothing there of any consequence to be stolen. Nothing except his family heirlooms, but no one else would want to keep something with the sullied name of Howe inscribed on it. He sighed. Someday, he would redeem his family's honor. Joining the Wardens was the first step to achieving this goal. He would follow in his grandfather's footsteps and avoid the mistakes of his father.

As Nathaniel entered the cold room, his attention was caught by a brightly wrapped box on the table next to his bed. _What was this_? It hadn't been there earlier before he left for the baths. Obviously, someone had entered his room and left it here, but who? Carefully, he picked up the box and examined it for any sign of a trap or poison. It wasn't heavy and didn't seem threatening in any way. Slowly, he slid a finger through the wrapping paper and removed it, tossing the paper to the floor. He found himself staring at the back of a picture frame and curiously turned it over. _Oh Maker_, he gasped.

It was an old, faded portrait of a smiling, dark-haired woman dressed in a fancy gown befitting a noble. _His mother_. She had died when he was only ten, but he still remembered that face, that sweet smile. Rendon had kept no pictures of his wife after her death, so Nathaniel had only memories. His fingers slowly caressed the canvas reverently.

"She was a lovely woman." The quiet, velvet voice came from behind him, and he whirled around. Zevran was stepping out from behind the armoire, dressed simply in a dark green tunic overlaying soft brown leather pants, belted at the waist. "I can see the resemblance in your eyes and your cheekbones."

"Did you leave this?" questioned Nathaniel. He was acutely aware that he was wearing only a towel.

"Yes. I hope you don't mind me entering your room without permission, but you _did_ leave your door unlocked. Really, you should be more careful." He smiled disarmingly, and the green of his shirt emphasized the golden sheen of his eyes.

"Where did you get it?" His voice sounded harsh and accusing to his own ears, and he found himself regretting that tone. Maybe he _did_ need to learn to relax more, but the Antivan was exceptionally skilled at getting under his skin and into places best left forgotten.

"The Commander sent me to the estate of one of the Banns last week, and I noticed this portrait in his home. He informed me that it was the late Elaine Howe, wife to Rendon Howe. He said she was a most delightful woman, and that it was a pity that she died young. Today, I went back to the estate and asked if I could perhaps purchase the portrait. But the good gentleman was kind enough to give it to me for free when I informed him that it was a gift for you. Apparently, not _all _nobles despise the Howe name. He said to tell you that the sins of the father need not dictate the path of the son."

Nathaniel stared back down at the picture. He was finding it curiously hard to swallow at that moment. "Thank you, Zevran," he said haltingly. "Really. This means . . . a lot to me."

"Please, call me Zev. And it's the _least _I can do for offending you yesterday. Truly, that was not my intent." The elf stepped closer, lifting his eyes to Nathaniel's. Really, those amber orbs were quite mesmerizing. Dammit, he needed _clothes_. This towel was making him feel too vulnerable.

"It's . . . okay. Perhaps, I overreacted a little. I tend to have somewhat of a temper. And call me Nate. Please." He returned Zev's gaze levelly, trying not to notice how close the elf was standing now. He could almost feel the heat emanating from that lithe, tanned form.

"Of course, Nate." Zevran smiled brightly and touched his arm tentatively. "Again, I apologize for misreading you. I'm not usually wrong, but in your case . . ." he shrugged offhandedly. Nathaniel felt himself flushing. _Maker, help me_. He closed his eyes briefly, then took a deep breath.

"It's not that you were wrong. But . . . " He struggled to get the words out. He wanted Zevran to understand; he owed the elf that much. "You see . . . my father, he didn't _approve_ of certain things. Once he discovered exactly what my . . . tendencies were, he made sure he put a stop to it." He looked up to see concern in Zevran's eyes and looked away. "I have taught myself to not feel those kind of desires. Do you understand?" _There, I've said it. Maybe now he will keep his distance_.

Zevran reached up and very lightly touched Nate's cheek. "Yes, I do. I have encountered this before, _especially_ in Ferelden. Other countries are more tolerant. My dear Warden, you have been deprived of a pleasure that is perfectly _normal._ There is nothing evil or wrong with sharing yourself with someone, whether it be man or woman. You should not deny yourself of this desire. Life is short, and pleasures are meant to be shared."

Nathaniel swallowed against the pain in his chest. For so_ long _he had felt that his wishes were wrong, had bedded women to satisfy his father, to win the elder Howe's approval. But Rendon Howe was dead, and the son was free to make his own choices. Would it truly be okay to just _give in_ for a change, to allow himself to feel what he had buried in his past? He met Zevran's gaze with pleading eyes. _ Help me. I don't know what to do_. His fists clenched in frustration.

Gently, Zev reached out and took Nate's hands in his own, smoothing the fists and relaxing Nate's fingers. Idly, he stroked the rogue's roughened palms with calloused thumbs. "So much fury is not good for the soul, _mi amigo_. Always I can see the tension in you. Do you not tire of all this . . . _brooding_?" He cocked his head thoughtfully at Nate. "Let me ask you a simple question. What do you feel when you look at me? Right now?"

Nate could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. _No more lies_. "I want . . ." He took a deep breath. "I want to touch you." He didn't look away as he said this and saw Zevran smile. Slowly, the elf raised Nate's hand and placed it against his tattooed cheek. Nate gasped slightly. _So warm_. Tentatively, he raised his other hand to touch Zev's silky blond hair. The elf closed his eyes and with a soft hum, turned his cheek into Nate's palm. The taller man shivered, and ran his thumb down the tattoo, following it to Zevran's jaw. The heat inside him was coiling tightly, and he slowly let himself give in to it. _This is __**not**__ wrong_, _and it never was_. _How could I have believed this_? Leaning forward, he hesitantly brushed his lips against the elf's.

To his surprise, Zevran parted his lips and slipped a hot tongue into Nate's mouth. _Holy Maker_. Nathaniel reached his hand into that golden hair and wrapped his palm around the base of Zevran's skull. His tongue met Zev's, and he stroked the elf's scalp with just the edge of his nails. The Antivan rewarded him with a soft moan that vibrated against Nate's lips. He imitated Nate's move, lightly scratching the nape of Nathaniel's neck. With a groan, Nate's hips pressed forward involuntarily against the elf, and he felt Zev's hardness beneath the soft leather. He broke the kiss and lay his forehead against Zevran's, breathing hard.

"It has been a long time since . . . since I've been with another man. I'm really not experienced . . ."

Zevran quieted him with a finger to his lips. "You worry too much, my Warden. I think we should take this slowly. Inhibition can be a very . . . _difficult . . . _wall to breach. It's best to savor things like this a bit at a time, like candy. Too much at once and you get a bellyache. But a piece at a time allows you to appreciate the _sweetness_ of candy, yes?" As he spoke, the assassin slowly slid the tip of his finger back and forth across Nate's lips teasingly. With a low growl, the rogue bit Zevran's finger and sucked it into his mouth, licking it with his tongue. The Antivan gently withdrew his finger and placed it inside his own mouth, sucking it exactly as if it _were_ a piece of candy. "Hmm, _definitely_ sweet." Amber eyes drifted down slowly to Nathaniel's towel, which was doing little to hide the rogue's erection. "I would like very much to remove this _encumbrance_ if I may." He lifted his eyebrows at Nate questioningly.

Nathaniel eyed him appraisingly. "Don't you think you should remove some items so that we may be on equal footing?" He purposely allowed his eyes to rest first on Zevran's tunic, then his pants. The assassin threw back his head and laughed.

"So this is to be another sparring match is it? Very well, _mi amigo_." The Antivan gracefully removed his tunic and trousers and tossed them aside. "And may I ask what weapons we shall be using this time?" He moved slowly to stand behind Nate, close enough that the taller man could feel the elf's breath on his shoulder. One hand carelessly caressed Nate's hip, a finger sliding beneath the towel. The rogue closed his eyes. Every barrier inside him was crumbling.

_"_Only what we have at the moment." Nathaniel's voice was hoarse, but controlled. Without any further hesitation, he pulled at the towel and dropped it to the floor. He heard the elf's soft hiss of approval and felt movement behind him. Zevran's smallclothes fell on top of the towel. Nate held himself perfectly still as the assassin slowly drew fingers and nails over his bare skin, exploring every inch of his back, his chest, his stomach. By the time those probing fingers reached his groin he was on fire, every nerve ending _raw_ with need. Warm lips brushed his neck, and then he felt the Antivan's tongue tracing the outline of his shoulder blade. Teeth closed on skin, and the pain shot a bolt of pleasure straight to his erection. Before he could recover, Zevran's tongue was sliding to the ridges of his spine. Hard fingers caressed his hips while wet heat forged a weaving trail down his vertebrae, ending in a gentle probing at the top of the slit between his buttocks. Gentle fingers separated the lean, toned curves of flesh and suddenly, the assassin was circling his tongue around the tight sphincter of his entrance. Nathaniel gasped, and kept himself upright only through sheer force of will.

Behind him, the elf rose to his feet and gently guided him to lay back on the bed. Nate took the momentary reprieve to fully take in the sight of Zevran, gloriously nude and obviously not the least bothered by Nate's scrutiny. Every line of his body was taut and firm, beautifully accentuated by the sinuous curves of his tattoos. With a feline grace, he crawled onto the bed, hovering over Nathaniel, eyes predatory. But the rogue was committed now, and he was not one to submit passively, especially in the midst of the passion Zevran had awakened in him. In a sudden show of strength, he grabbed Zevran's hips and rolled the elf to his back, holding both of the assassin's hands above his head in a tight grip. Zevran raised his eyebrows in amusement at the display of aggression.

"Ahh, is this your revenge for our match yesterday?" He seductively thrust his hips up, rubbing his length against Nathaniel's, eliciting a growl from the rogue.

"You haven't even _begun_ to know my revenge," he hissed. He lowered himself till they were skin against skin, both swollen members trapped between them. Nate began to slowly flex his hips, creating an exquisite friction that drew ragged breaths from both men.

"Indeed? In that case, I am greatly looking forward to seeing what else . . . _ah,_" the elf groaned as Nate lowered his head and nibbled at Zevran's ear. The rogue chuckled, continuing to torment that sensitive spot with teeth and tongue until the elf was gasping breathlessly, his back arching against Nathaniel.

"I see you are . . . ah . . . quite knowledgeable . . . of elven anatomy, _mi amigo_," Zevran murmured distractedly, tilting his head back in pleasure.

"Mmmm," replied Nate. "Perhaps _somewhat_." And then there were no more words, as both men began to move in earnest, skin sliding against skin, the musky scent of their sex mixing with incoherent cries. At the end, Nathaniel released Zevran's wrists, and the elf gripped his buttocks, nails clenching into sensitive flesh. With a sharp cry, the assassin released himself, and Nathaniel could feel the rhythmic pulsing against his own length. He answered with a groan and added his seed to Zevran's, shuddering with the force of his ecstasy. Only after heartbeats finally slowed did he finally move off the elf, leaving the bed to retrieve his towel which he used to clean both himself and his lover, who continued to sprawl lazily on the bed, watching with half-lidded eyes. Tossing the towel aside, Nate lay back down on his side facing Zevran, head resting on the crook of his elbow.

"I must say that wall was breached rather more easily than I anticipated, my Warden." Zevran grinned lasciviously at him. "And you are not as inexperienced as you claim to be."

"Good," said Nate, "but you still owe me an archery match. And don't think I'll go easy on you."

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it, _mi amigo_. Your aggression is quite . . . arousing. I rather hope you will never go easy on me." Zevran smiled suggestively, and Nathaniel was surprised to find himself growing hard again at the thoughts _that_ provoked. Finally liberated from years of restraint, he looked forward to Zevran's challenge.

"I'm so glad you approve," he growled pulling the Antivan into a heated kiss. "Because my revenge isn't quite finished yet."


End file.
